FGM

The central image in Ousmane Sembene's movie Moolaade about female genital mutilation is fitting: an ostrich egg sitting in the crevice on the top of the village mosque. The symbolism is clear: unlike one character's assertion that Islam requires women to be cut (this is a practice that existed pre-Muhammad), the religion - in this case the mosque - holds and cherishes a woman's complete sexuality.

This movie, set in Burkina Faso, follows six girls who escape from their own circumcision ceremony (in the Bambara language, this is innocently referred to as "the hand washing ceremony") to the house of Colle, correctly assuming that Colle, who didn't allow her own daughters to be cut, would protect them. This creates a division in the village between those who condone and those who condemn this traditional practice.

The subject of FGM is a difficult one to broach in my village. I've learned that depending on how I ask questions, I will get very different responses. Once, while lounging on a bench with my 14 year old sister, I began asking her questions and at first, she was receptive to talking about it. She explained how, traditionally, it's the blacksmith who does the circumcision; a male blacksmith for the boys and a female blacksmith for the girls. Sometimes these people come from the community, or sometimes they come from Kedougou. To encourage Goundo to keep talking, I told her that in America, girls aren't circumcised at all, and it's the parent's decision if they circumcise the boys. Goundo got silent, suddenly remembering something she had been told awhile back, and she shut the conversation down.

New initiates in Sembene's film

I knew what that something was. It's become well known in this part of the world what Westerners think of FGM. Big aid organizations will come into a community and give large amounts of money if that community will promise to stop the practice of female cutting. The community promises, the papers are signed, they receive their money...and they continue right on with their tradition.

When I've asked people in my village if the women are cut, I've heard everything from "yes, every single woman" to "no, we don't do that here." With varied responses like that, I can only assume that the tradition lives on.

Last night, I was walking through the village with my aunt. We had gone to watch some communal tv and were headed home in the clear moonlight. I had a little sister clinging to each hand. My aunt's little daughter was strapped to her back. "Aunt Noba, how old are girls when they get cut?" I asked, holding tightly to my little sisters.

"About five," she responded. Then after a pause, she added, "You know, if they don't get cut, they can't have kids."

For most aspects of life here, I try to approach anthropologically - observing and even participating without judgment. Female cutting is one of the few exceptions. Beautiful people and beautiful traditions exist here in Senegal, and FGM is not one of them.

Mosque from Sembene's film, balancing an ostrich egg

The final shot in Moolaade is a simple, yet powerful, image. Sembene cuts back to the mosque, which is still swaddling the ostrich egg. After all the conflict the village went through - beating people, banishing them from the community, confiscating and burning all the radios - the most important and unifying aspect (religion) still holds strong. With this image, Sembene tells us that we can abandon unhealthy practices while still respecting the tradition of our ancestors.